


The Sun Kissed The Night

by The Sign of Tea (NoPlastic)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Chases, F/M, First Kiss, Guns, Infidelity, Pre-OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5033161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoPlastic/pseuds/The%20Sign%20of%20Tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sherlock,” she whispered, and forgot all her cautiousness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun Kissed The Night

An orange-red sun set behind the old houses, tinting their edges in the color of dried blood. Fog collected over the streets in the outskirts of the city. Occasionally cars passed by, headlights briefly illuminating the grey walls and streetsigns. Mary groaned under the weight of her shopping bags. The breeze felt cold on the bare skin of her arms and shins.

She’d almost reached the side street where her own car was parked, when something caused her to hesitate. At first it was only a vague feeling, but then she heard it – hurried footsteps, shouting, and…

Gunshots.

She jumped and hid behind the nearest garden wall. Old reflexes. Milk spilled onto the pavement where she’d dropped her bags. Carefully, she peeked round the corner into the street, mentally prepared to see a gun aimed at herself.

There was a man with a gun, but he didn’t seem to have noticed her at all. He stormed by and down the street; a tall bloke with a black mask on his head.  
Seconds later, another man followed – a distinctive figure with curly hair, a man she knew very well.

“Sherlock,” she whispered, and immediately forgot all her cautiousness. She left her hiding place, kicked the shopping bags out of the way, and ran after him.

 

“Bank robber,” Sherlock panted when Mary caught up with him. “Tried to shoot me, but he’s got to be out of ammunition now. Can’t let him escape.”

In front of them, the robber jumped over a waist-high wire fence near one of the empty houses, and ran on through the unkempt garden. Sherlock and Mary followed him.

Both Sherlock and the criminal were getting slow due to exhaustion, while Mary was still able to run fast. Soon, she was only a few feet away from the robber, so close she could almost catch him. She was just thinking about trying to tackle him when the man suddenly stopped and turned around. For a second, she was unable to move. A safety catch clicked, and she found herself staring right into the barrel of his gun.

What saved her was another old reflex – falling to the ground like a corpse, and then rolling sideways under the elder bushes, while the shot still rang in her ears. The bullet hit the ground exactly where she’d stood moments before.  
So much for the robber being out of ammunition.

Sherlock, of course, didn’t go any slower after witnessing the shooting. In fact, he seemed to be chasing after the criminal even faster. He got closer, he would get him – he would get shot.

“Stop!” Mary shouted, sprang to her feet and ran after Sherlock again.

In the time it took her to catch up with him, the robber reached the other end of the garden, and swung himself over the fence. Sherlock jumped after him, but before he could get any further, Mary managed to grab his shirt. She heard the fabric tearing. Desperately, she threw her arms around his waist and held on to him. He stumbled and had to grab the fence between them to avoid landing face-first on the pavement.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, please don’t,” she panted, after they’d both regained their balance. “Don’t go after him.”

Sherlock shook his head, anger and frustration on his face. They stared at each other, Mary on one side of the fence and Sherlock on the other, while the robber kept running down the alley and disappeared out of sight.

“He’s a criminal, a thief and a murderer,” Sherlock said briskly. “He has to be stopped.”

“He has a gun,” Mary protested, out of breath, still clutching at his shirt for fear that he might try to run away again.

“He tried to shoot you, Mary,” he replied between gritted teeth. “We can’t let him get away.”

“Yes, but he has a gun, and we don’t _. Please.”_ Damn this man, he was the only one who could make her come this close to begging. “Please.”

Sherlock took a last sad look in the direction where the robber had escaped, then he finally seemed to understand.

“I was wrong,” he muttered in a nearly inaudible voice. “About his gun not being loaded. I’m sorry.”

“Leave it to the police,” Mary said with a shrug to indicate that his mistake didn’t matter now. “Or perhaps we can try again and catch him another time.”

“Alright. Fine.” He conceded, still not sounding very convinced.

“So, what now?” Mary asked, switching to a more cheerful tone. “Will you come back over here, so we can go all the way back through the garden, or do you know a shortcut?”

Sherlock chuckled, and shook his head.

“I'm sure we’ll find one. Let’s head for the garden door first.”

“Good idea.”

In slightly awkward silence, they started walking along the fence – Sherlock avoiding the cracks in the pavement on his side, Mary avoiding the rabbit holes, thistles and nettles on hers.

“Oh, I just wish you hadn’t done that,” Sherlock broke the silence after a while.

“Done what?”

“Letting go of me.” He stopped and turned towards her. “After you’d put your arms around me. It’s cold, and you’re… Your hands are warm.”

The last part of his sentence came out as a whisper. For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to say more, but then he pressed his lips together in a thin line. His fingers started thrumming a restless rhythm on top of the fence, until Mary reached out and took his hand softly into her own. That didn’t stop his fingers from twitching, but it made him smile. His eyes were pale grey in the faint light of the streetlamps.

“Mary.”

Only he could say the name like this, her name, in that soft and almost regretful tone. It contained all the unspeakable things they’d done to each other in the past, but also the way they’d overcome them together.

As if they’d both had the same thought at the same time, they pulled each other closer, and their handholding turned into an embrace.

He held her like something highly valuable and fragile, his hands on her shoulder and her back like he would touch his partner in a dance.

“I don’t do this,” she heard him whisper before they kissed.

What his mind and body lacked in warmth and softness, Sherlock’s mouth made up for. His kiss felt like a feather on Mary’s lips at first, until she put her hands on the back of his head and kissed him back firmly. Everything else was forgotten, and the gentle heat between them became the only thing of importance in the universe.

The realisation what they'd done, what it meant, would come later.


End file.
